The things we've seen
by Aliasing2VmaxHz
Summary: Sometimes the best stories are told from the weirdest point of view.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

* * *

Hey, you! What are you doing here? No, no, don't run away; come closer, come closer. Don't be afraid! I may be old, but I won't bite. I have many stories to recount, you know. Tell me; are you here to hear about _them_, too? Figures… everybody around here wants to know something about the so-called 'Dynamic Duo', especially newbies. Have you seen any of them yet? No? Well, you can recognize rookies easily. Usually they walk around the bullpen, looking as lost and excited as kids on their first day of school. You can almost smell the shyness they radiate as they approach senior members of the squad; they get close, and they listen to trivia as if it was the rarest lines taken from an ancient myth, and then they walk away. Satisfied. They don't talk to us though, they never do. They question everybody, from captain to janitors, but they ignore us and pass by. Damn it!

As I told you before, my partner and I have plenty of stories; stories that we're more than willing to share with others. But 'others' won't listen to us. They think that just because we're still and mute, then we can't communicate. That's not true!

We may be desks, but we've lived through a lot of things.

Every single dent, scar, mark, crack and scribble tells each a different story; a kick in a moment of frustration, a book slammed down too fiercely, or the tip of a pen pressed mindlessly into the wood. There is a reason behind each, and we know what those reasons are. You want to know those reasons, too, don't ya? Well, I think now you know the drill; ask us!

We saw everything and nothing ever escaped our notice; from the first awkward interactions, nervousness and tense fights that gradually faded to leave room for smiles and jokes.

On those granitic foundations a solid partnership was build; a partnership that lasted for years.

If at first they avoided eye contact as much as possible, toward the end they were able to sustain a whole conversation without even talking. Amazing.

It was amazing how expressive those stares were; whether they were angry, excited, sad, furious, playful or simply apathetic, you could have read it in their eyes. Otherwise, you would have never, ever known what they were feeling; they would not have told you in person, under any circumstance or even torture. That's for sure.

Of the two of them, he'd been the first one to quit the job. The day he left, both of them had watery eyes and a frown. Whether they're good or bad, too many memories can make you sad.

The day she left, she still had watery eyes. But, this time, she also wore a delightful smile; the most beautiful smile I've ever seen on her, to be more exact. Have you ever seen one of those sincere smiles that conveys both relief and fulfilment, mingled with just a tiny, tiny hint of sadness? Yes? Excellent! Because that's what I'm talking about… that's what I'm talking about.

If their emotions were often clear to us thanks to their eyes, the looks they reserved for each other were, and will always be, a complete enigma to us. All those feelings mixed up… Bah! A real mess! I wouldn't be surprised if they've had troubles in deciphering those glances themselves. Scratch that, I am one hundred percent sure that they had decoding issues; otherwise, they would have saved themselves a lot of tribulation. Believe me.

Now, I went off on a tangent telling you about stares and smiles and I got lost… Where the hell was I? Oh, yeah, that's it! Talking about glances leads me to think about touches.

Touches are our personal favorites; we haven't missed a single one of them.

They always acted as if touching wasn't a big deal- bullshit!

We know that every time they accidentally brushed their brushed hands as they walked side-by-side their hearts faltered.

We know that, when one of them had to catch the other's one attention, the simple gesture of a tap on the arm was calculated in every detail. There had to be a precise amount of pressure; too light a touch may have gone unnoticed, too much pressure may have been considered a rude action.

Usually when they had to touch, they first looked around them; they had to make sure none of their fellow detectives was watching. They didn't want to be seen. Everybody knows detectives are good at deducing; few people know that detectives are good at making assumptions, as well. They're really brilliant at that.

We also know that, every time they touched hands while passing coffee cups, they'd let fingers linger a little longer than necessary, enjoying every moment of it. They knew they shouldn't have felt that way, that they shouldn't have enjoyed the touch that much. But they did. They kept these feelings secret from each other, and did a damned good job of hiding it, remaining unaware their feelings were reciprocated.

Were they idiots? Maybe, that depends on which definition of 'idiot' you've got. They definitely had blinkers on their eyes, though.

Once, I caught one of them… no, I'm not going to tell you who… Anyway, I caught one of them writing their names in pencil on my wooden surface. Nope, it wasn't the banal and juvenile game of writing your name coupled with your secret crush surname, or vice-versa. Nothing of the kind, this one was more sophisticated; it followed a rigid scheme. First nicknames only, then first names, followed by names and surnames, and so on… until all the possible combinations ended. I couldn't help but notice that the writer's light script became softer and sweeter as the lines grew longer.

Needless to say that this graffiti did not last long. It was erased with a palm as soon as the absent partner returned after a visit to the Captain's office.

We watched 'em walk together for years. They passed us each time they came back in the office with news to share. In all the years they've spent here, they always kept the same stride, and always kept the same protocol. She'd lead, as usual, and he followed her respectfully at least one foot behind.

He dared to walk in front of her only if he had to shield her from something, like a blast of cold wind or a blow from a violent perp.

They used to walk that way, keeping the same distance between them, from day one 'till the end.

They had left the force the last time I saw them. They walked slowly but steadily into the captain's office with some sort of documents in hand, but I don't know for sure what it was all about…

Let me tell you one last thing; that day, I could swear I saw them walk closer than they used to do when they entered the bullpen. When they were finally ready to leave, they stopped by us; they touched our polished surfaces lightly, using fingertips only, moving from one end to the other. When they'd finished, they looked at each other for a long while, with a gaze I don't think I've ever seen them use before.

Eventually, they entwined those same fingers they let linger on us for so long, and left. They did not looked around this time, they did not care if they were seen touching; I guess there was no reason to worry any more.

See? I bet you didn't know that… So, from now on, if you ever feel like knowing something more about them, ask us.

We may be old and rusty desks but we definitely know a lot of things.

* * *

Thanks to my beta Purplecleric for her wonderful job!

This story is listed as 'complete', but if you want it to be longer I can transform it into a drabble collection.

Any ideas or suggestions I can develop? Is there a particular tale you want those two desks to tell you? Let me know in your review or PM.


	2. Chapter 2

I doubt many of you have ever seen the beginning of it all. Actually, I don't think _any_ of you have had the pleasure to assist the creation of a monster.

I remember that day so vividly… Oh, you wish I'd tell you what I saw, don't you?

Ok, it's a deal.

I don't really remember what the weather was like that day, but I suppose it had to be pretty cold because I remember she had draped her heavy coat on us for a moment, before hanging it in its proper place. It might have been late fall, perhaps…

Anyway, what I remember clearly of that particular day, is that she'd already been sitting with us for a while, when the elevator's door flew open, and he stepped out. He passed in front of us and crossed the squad room; she didn't acknowledge the new presence at all. A few minutes later he walked out from the Captain's office, with his new superior walking right behind him.

They did not stop by us, at first. Instead, they walked straight to the gun locker; quickly opening and closing one of its drawers. Only after these procedures were concluded, did they eventually get to us.

After a brief introduction, he decided to let go of the coat he had hanging over his arm, and finally shook her hand.

And there they were; for the first time, two seeming opposites met. He was tall, she was short; he had dark brown, curly hair, she kept hers straight and blonde; he looked happy to meet her, she didn't… Actually, he looked very enthusiastic about his new job and his new partner. His happiness manifested itself with a series of nervous movements that did nothing but bother the hell out of her; or at least that's how we saw it.

When the Captain left, she fell back in her chair, still staring at him suspiciously from under her bangs. He, on the other hand, was less calm than she; he kept looking around and was fidgety beyond imagination.

In his frantic clumsiness, he dropped the object he was holding, which fell on me with a loud 'thud' that echoed through the whole squad room. The loud noise, and the sudden movement he made to try and catch it in time, startled her, making her jump.

He apologized profusely while gathering the fallen item and its contents, but his words passed through her skull, entering in one ear and coming out from the other one. She smiled a tight smile and nodded at him; all through this courtesy, I clearly felt her nails digging into the wood.

Ugh… Even if it didn't leave any mark, it hurt.

It was clear that she wasn't pleased by her new colleague; it didn't escape me and it certainly didn't escape her new partner, either. He acted politely, though, and a fight was avoided.

That time, at least… They didn't fight that first day, but there were plenty of fights during the following months. I seriously thought they wouldn't have lasted; my partner and I started placing bets, he gave them three months, I went up to four.

Oh, but we were wrong, so wrong…

They lasted years.

Twelve years to be more precise.

Those fights may have been distressing for both of them, but they were absolutely worth the trouble, in my opinion; I mean, look what they've become!

We had the pleasure to share many memories with them, and we were more than pleased to share those anecdotes again. All the times they were stuck here until late at night, they often ended up playing the 'do you remember' game; we silently played along…

"_Hey Bobby, do you remember that time, when you spilled your coffee over Carver? He looked so pissed."_

"_Oh, yeah. How could I ever forget his face? And his dry-cleaning bill…"_

I won't forget the coffee's temperature, and the sticky stains it left, either.

"_Eames? I was- I was wondering… Do you remember when your sister brought Nate to visit you at work?"_

"_Yes, of course…"_

"_I still have the drawing he made for me."_

"_I know Bobby… Hey, you never told me what he drew."_

"_N-nothing special, really. It's just… little boy's fantasy."_

"_I'd like to see it, someday."_

"_Sure… someday."_

Liar. At the bottom of the paper sheet, in a clumsy six year old writing, were the words 'Auntie Alex'. Over it, the colored lines mingled forming a little blonde woman's figure.

"_Bobby, can I ask you something?"_

"_Yep."_

"_Remember the day I fired you?"_

"_Uhm." _

"_You need to know I didn't enjoy doing it. Not a little bit."_

"_I know, Eames. Don't worry, I know…"_

His fingers rubbed at a scratch in my worn surface, a sure sign of his unease.

"_Eames? Eames, s-sorry, I need to know something…"_

"_Go ahead."_

"_Do you remember our first day together?"_

"_It's hard to forget…"_

"_Well… I want to know… What did you think of me? You know, first impression."_

"_I thought you were the most exasperating goofball I'd ever met. Oh, and the biggest one as well; let's not forget how tall you are…"_

"_Have you changed your mind? About me?"_

"_No, I still think you're exasperating as hell, and goofy. And tall."_

"_Then why did you stay?"_

"_I knew it would be worth it."_

He smiled and she patted the back of his hand.

Well, it was worth it, wasn't it?


	3. Chapter 3

Sadly, I also remember all the times when, for a reason or another, they've not been sitting here, facing one other.

Mind you, I'm not talking about simple sick days or personal time; I'm talking about serious absences. Of course, 'serious' doesn't always mean 'sad' or 'grave'; sometimes something 'serious' can turn out to be a joyful event. Take childbirth, for instance; a serious and painful process that eventually results in a tiny new life – and utter joy.

This is a bit complicated for us to explain; we're desks, you know, we don't reproduce… Usually we're built on a production line… Anyway, don't let me get sidetracked, I was talking about childbirth. As I was telling you, we don't know ourselves the happiness such an event brings, but we can see it reflected in the mother's eyes.

This long introduction leads me to my next story; a story that contains many contradictory feelings but interesting parallels.

It all started many years ago now, when she'd told him that she was pregnant. Although, that's what I think… I suppose she'd told him; even if, knowing him, he may have just deduced it himself. I don't know if or how she'd told him about her condition because that conversation never happened here; I just know that one day, out of nowhere, they started talking about this "baby". Needless to say that his concern toward her grew exponentially during the following weeks.

I saw his care bringing them closer; I can say they surely enjoyed this new side of their partnership, but all this had its price…

The day he found himself alone at work, I saw the sparkle in his dark eyes die. Although he'd already been working with a substitute partner, the day she didn't show up in the bullpen everybody could really see how much he was missing his companion.

I can only imagine how hard it is when you have to work with someone you don't know; someone who has a different rhythm from you, and doesn't want to change it in order to match your own. And of course you do the same; when your rhythm is already synchronized with someone else's, why should you change it? It's just a temporary solution, after all, let's save the effort.

His frustration became more and more evident each passing day.

On an impulse, he screwed up a page of his notes and threw it over us, directly at her sadly empty chair.

In that balled piece of paper he put all his anger, frustration, despair and longing, and metaphorically threw it at her; as if to say 'Look! Look what you've done to me!'. He thought she deserved this outburst and more; it was her fault if he was stuck in such an unpleasant situation.

I'm sure this thought crossed his mind, but I'm also sure that, as soon as the paper ball hit the ground, he regretted blaming her for his uneasiness. He was blaming her for what? For being so kind in giving her sister one of the most precious gifts in the world. How could he?

He despised himself for thinking such thoughts. I will never forget his pained expression or how desperate his eyes were in that moment.

I'm still asking myself if he was more upset because of her absence, because of his burst, or because of his thoughts. I'll never know.

Anyway, the days passed by and, eventually, she returned. As she sat on her chair and looked at him, the sparkle returned. They were happy; everything got back to normal.

During all the time she'd been away, he didn't hide his yearnings.

On the other hand, when he was away, her true feelings remained secret because she constantly wore a mask at work; she had to be strong, or at least she had to pretend to be strong.

This is the reason why I can't tell you anything about any outbursts on her part; if she's had any, they didn't happen here.

Although she remained composed, I caught her staring at my empty partner, from time to time; I noticed that she had the same hollow look her colleague sported several years before.

They were opposites in this, too. Whilst he was used to externalizing his feelings, such as when he decided to "clean" my friend with one quick, enraged swept of his arms; she has always tended to bottle up everything until it reached boiling point. I really do hope she had the chance to get it out of her system somewhere else.

Now, you may be wondering what can a desk possibly know about human feelings. You're right, we don't know very much about it. But think about this, we see everything from a different perspective, from a different angle; we see people's faces in their truest moments, when they think no-one's looking. When there's such an open display of vulnerability, we're there and have front row seats. And we get upset. What did you think, huh? That pieces of furniture don't have feelings, too? Well, guess what? We do! Have you ever noticed that sometimes pencils keep rolling off your desk without an apparent reason, or that your chair is more wobbly than usual? Well, maybe that day your furniture is having a bad day.

Think about it.

Let me tell you one more thing, maybe it's clichéd and corny, but opposites do attract. It's neither a rule nor science, though. It's more like a philosophy of life; sometimes it works, other times it doesn't.

In this particular case it worked, and I've seen it every day. Every day they found the courage to show up at work after a rough fight, it's another point that proves my theory, or better, my philosophy. They may have not being speaking or looking at each other for a while, but still it's a success.

Just consider how they started, and how they ended…Wait! You don't know... I think I may have dropped some hints. I know, I know, you're curious, but I really don't know how to help you with that; we don't know the whole story ourselves, just scant bits and pieces. We'd like to know the whole truth, too, but what we have are just opinions and suppositions.

Our new occupants still talk about them occasionally; I have to confess that they don't say a lot more than what we already knew or speculated.

From what I understand, it seems that they are no longer apart.

How do I know it? It's easy; all those shared glances had to lead somewhere. Whether this direction is a bad or a good one, it's for you to decide.

Now, depending on your viewpoint, you may be very disappointed or very happy hearing my words, but remember that I'm a desk! I don't, and never will, fully understand humans; for all I know, I may have been reading them wrong the whole time!

What if I'm wrong and opposites do not attract? What if they've both taken separate roads and now are miles away from each other? What if I've misread complicity for hatred and yearning for relief?

We talked about touches, once… Well, touches can mean everything and nothing at the same time; just think about how many times my partner and I are touched without any particular meaning behind the action. What if I've misread the real intent behind the few intentional touches they shared at work, too? Then everything I've been telling you is a lie; a big but unintentional lie. If this is the case, all I have left to tell you is _'I'm sorry'_.

Anyway, that's enough for today, I'm tired. Do you want to know more? Pass by another time, we may remember something else. Maybe we'll also have a clearer idea by then…

* * *

Thank you for reading this. A huge 'thank you' goes to my wonderful beta Purplecleric.


End file.
